Angel's Departure, Coward's Remorse
by Question-Existing
Summary: In a moment of clarity, Hermione Granger pushed herself away from Dobby and let herself be re-captured. In her final moments of life, witness her bravery and courage, as well as Draco Malfoy's reaction to this heroine's death. Oneshot. Non-DH compliant after capture at Malfoy Manor.


_**Angel's Departure, Coward's Remorse**_

They led her down a long, ornately decorated hallway of Malfoy Manor, each step bringing her closer to Voldemort, to her imminent death. Hermione held her head high, maintained a ramrod straight back, and lofted her nose into the air, eyes facing straight forward. She didn't spare a glance at the sneering portraits, all with their trademark platinum hair and steel eyes, an ocean of hate frothing in the grey depths. With each of her slow, pain-filled steps, blood dripped on the ornate Persian rug, forming a trail of sorrow and quashed hope behind her. She thought it ironic that a family who cares so much about dirty blood would let hers drip onto their expensive, luxurious décor. _They'll probably make a poor house elf clean it up afterward, anyway,_ she thought, the action causing a little sigh for the poor, mistreated creatures to escape from her swollen, cracked and bloodied lips.

"Shut up, ye stupid bint, and keep yerself movin'," a masked Death Eater growled behind her, jabbing a wand between her shoulder blades. His silver mask gleamed ominously in the dim candlelit hallway, and his tall black-clad figure cast threatening shadows into the cobwebbed and gloomy corners. Another Death Eater cast a Silencing charm on her, and Hermione was pushed from behind to move forward. The walk never seemed to end, as each step she took, each corner she rounded gave way to more dimly lit and shadowy hallways, shadows dancing along the walls in front of her. Finally, they came to a teak wood door, stained a murky black, with silver Malfoy Family Crests as door handles. A third Death Eater, the final member of their eerie quartet, glided to the door and whispered a spell, his voice too low for Hermione to make out. Creaking and groaning, the heavy teak door pushed open to reveal an enormous throne room of sorts. The Persian runner stopped at the entryway, giving way to black marble floors, polished to perfection. Tall, ornately chiseled black marble columns lined the edges of the room, painted a deep, bloody red hue, and mirrors covered a domed ceiling , reflecting the entire scene unfurling upon her. _The mirrors are probably there for the Death Eaters' extra enjoyment when they torture helpless people, _Hermione thought, _the sick bastards. _In the center of the room, steps led to a white marble throne where Voldemort sat, hands folded around the Elder Wand, and a sickly smirk on his pale face. Behind him, hundreds of Death Eaters stood, hands behind their backs and faces turned toward their snakelike leader.

"Step forward, Hermione Granger," Voldemort rasped, and beckoned a long, pale finger toward Hermione, wandlessly and wordlessly summoning her to the steps in front of his throne and forcing her to kneel before him. Hermione gazed at the black-clad figures behind their "Dark Lord," noticing one particular man who stood out from the somber crowd. Draco Malfoy stood directly behind Voldemort's throne and next to Bellatrix Lestrange, an imperturbable, impassive look adorning his chiseled face. He was the only Death Eater, save Bellatrix, who did not wear a mask. _Maybe he's Voldemort's right hand man now, _thought Hermione, as she peered through her lashes at his stony exterior. Gazing into his silver eyes, his usually concealed emotions swirling in the stony depths, Hermione was transfixed. _How can someone so evil have such beautiful, haunted eyes? _

"Look at me!" Voldemort snarled, snapping her out the trance, and she stared unflinchingly at Voldemort, a defiant challenge in her amber eyes mirroring that in his red, serpentine slits. As he lifted his wand and casted a nonverbal Crucio on her, Hermione willed herself to not writhe in pain or scream, to be strong, _and to think of what Harry and Ron would do if they were here. Oh, how I wish I could see them one last time, to tell them goodbye. I'd ruffle Harry's unruly black hair, telling him not to worry, that this isn't his fault. I gave up myself so they could escape. I broke away from Dobby, let Bellatrix grab me again. This is _my _fault, not his. And Ron…oh Ron. I would have to let him know how much I love him…that everything I did here was for him, so he could live on, get married, have children and grow old. I had to be strong. I had to let it go so they could continue. Otherwise, we would all be dead. At least, with my death, the Death Eater will be distracted, which will give Harry and Ron a chance to look for the remaining Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort once and for all. _Finally, the curse let up, and she rolled from the fetal position she must have subconsciously shifted into, to her knees again, gasping for breath and shaking from the shocks of the Unforgivable reverberating through her system. Voldemort smiled, if one could call it that, and recast the curse, stronger this time, the pain forcing Hermione to writhe on the floor. Her back arched off the cold marble floor, and her eyes found the silver depths once again and locked onto them, holding her stare for the entirety of her torture and willing them not to shift away. Just like the last time, the pain finally receded to a whisper of what it once was, and Hermione forced herself to stand, to face Evil as a strong, unbreakable human. Hermione watched Voldemort lift his wand, and cry out the fateful words.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _ He screeched, flourishing his wand as a bright green light enveloped the room. Hermione felt herself fall backwards as an overwhelming blackness encircled her in its dark blanket and carried her away from the mortal world.

As Death engulfed the petite brunette crumpled on the cool marble steps, no one noticed a tear slip from the pained grey eyes of a certain blonde and trail down his face, dripping off his chiseled chin. Later, no one noticed him leave the room before the body was disposed of, before the celebration of Hermione Granger's death commenced. Locked in his room, a powerful Silencing charm in place, Draco Malfoy beat his fists against the wall, screaming tortured cries of agony gone unnoticed by the crowded room floors below. He stormed through his room, tears cascading down his face as he tore his expensive silken shirts, exploded his four-poster bed, and set fire to his discarded Death Eater robes. In the bathroom, he slammed his fists into the beautiful, gold-gilded mirror, glass shattering and cutting deep into his knuckles. Sliding to the ceramic tile floor, seated among the shattered glass, Draco pressed his bloodied hands to his face and internally cursed his cowardice. He had _stood there,_ for Merlin's sake, and watched the angel that was Hermione Granger be brutally tortured and murdered before his very eyes. In the moments their eyes had locked the first time, he wanted to run to her, to wrap her in his embrace and Apparate them away to a foreign land, where she could be safe, where they wouldn't have to hide or run or be anything but _themselves, _but _he couldn't. _ He couldn't, because he _was a bloody coward, not worthy of the scum on Potter's boot, let alone someone as magnificent as Granger, _he berated himself. He wished he could have died with her, saved her, done _anything _differently. Most of all, he wished he had told her he loved her so.


End file.
